arrived to transport Lindy to the ER. Lindy had squeezed Carson’s hand and begged him to ride on the ambulance with her, but the ambulance driver told her that only Maria could go. Lindy had pouted, but Carson and I had waved happily as the ambulance doors closed, finally leaving us alone.
“We should take the picnic basket and have our own picnic,” he had suggested. “Minus the French bread, of course.”
I had been about to ask whatever we would do without French bread (insert sarcasm here), my heart nearly bursting with excitement, when Mrs. Lincoln had come screeching up the driveway.
“Where did they take her?” she had asked, leaning out the driver side window. I had forgotten it was Wednesday, David’s day off.
“The hospital,” I answered, pointing toward town.
“Well, don’t just stand there catching flies!” She threw open the passenger side. “Get in!”
My mouth dropped open. “But I…” Were both Lincolns determined to wreck any chance I had with Carson?
“Now!” Mrs. Lincoln yelled. “We don’t have all day!”
I shrugged my shoulders apologetically at Carson and stepped off the side walk. Carson grabbed my arm and pressed his mouth to my ear. “Meet me on the path by the marsh at midnight,” Carson whispered.
I stared at him for a second, not sure what to say. I had never snuck out at night before. Nobody had ever given me reason to. I wasn’t sure how I’d manage it. Mama was a very light sleeper. But hell, for Carson, I’d walk across hot coals, so I’d figure out a way. I nodded as I waved at him and climbed into Mrs. Lincoln’s car. She backed out of the driveway at a speed that caused my head to hit the seat.
And so, I reluctantly ended up a passenger for Mrs. Lincoln’s try-out for the Indy 500 down all the side streets of our town; her attempt at “taking a short cut” that actually took us ten minutes longer and shaved at least four years off my life.
When we got there and approached the front desk looking for Lindy, the receptionist made it quite clear that Lindy was already making a nuisance of herself. She had apparently “fired” a nurse when she told her they couldn’t give her Percocet without a doctor’s order, and that furthermore, it was not routine to give a narcotic for a sprained ankle. Mrs. Lincoln was livid that anyone dare deny her daughter Percocet—she was probably looking to swipe a few in the process—so she demanded to speak with the nurse’s supervisor. The supervisor promptly backed up her staff nurse and that went over with Mrs. Lincoln like a fart in church.
After several temper tantrums on the part of both Lindy and Mrs. Lincoln (and also a janitor named Luis who got upset when Mrs. Lincoln kicked over his bucket of water), five hours, and at least three Valium later—for Mrs. Lincoln, not Lindy—we were on our way back to Lindy’s house with a Percocet script and an ace bandage wrapped around the princess’s elevated ankle.
“Now Lindy, you’re going to have to be careful with that ankle. I want you to prop it up on your bed and no wandering around the house all night,” Mrs. Lincoln was instructing as she turned down a side street, nearly hitting two kids setting up a lemonade stand.
“Of course,” Lindy mumbled while rolling her eyes at me. I wasn’t fooled. She was lavishing her mama’s attention. This made up for the fact that Carson had escaped from her grasp.
“Maria, we’re going to need you to stay with Lindy tonight,” she continued as she swerved into the driveway and bounded over the curb. I could see where Lindy got her keen driving skills from.
“What? Why?” Lindy asked at the same time as Maria said, “Sorry, Mrs. Lincoln, I can’t stay. It’s my mama’s birthday today.”
“But I have a fundraiser dinner tonight and James is out of town!” Mrs. Lincoln wailed. Lindy also inherited her mama’s negotiating skills. “Lindy can’t stay alone! Surely you can have cake another
“We should take the picnic basket and have our own picnic,” he had suggested. “Minus the French bread, of course.”
I had been about to ask whatever we would do without French bread (insert sarcasm here), my heart nearly bursting with excitement, when Mrs. Lincoln had come screeching up the driveway.
“Where did they take her?” she had asked, leaning out the driver side window. I had forgotten it was Wednesday, David’s day off.
“The hospital,” I answered, pointing toward town.
“Well, don’t just stand there catching flies!” She threw open the passenger side. “Get in!”
My mouth dropped open. “But I…” Were both Lincolns determined to wreck any chance I had with Carson?
“Now!” Mrs. Lincoln yelled. “We don’t have all day!”
I shrugged my shoulders apologetically at Carson and stepped off the side walk. Carson grabbed my arm and pressed his mouth to my ear. “Meet me on the path by the marsh at midnight,” Carson whispered.
I stared at him for a second, not sure what to say. I had never snuck out at night before. Nobody had ever given me reason to. I wasn’t sure how I’d manage it. Mama was a very light sleeper. But hell, for Carson, I’d walk across hot coals, so I’d figure out a way. I nodded as I waved at him and climbed into Mrs. Lincoln’s car. She backed out of the driveway at a speed that caused my head to hit the seat.
And so, I reluctantly ended up a passenger for Mrs. Lincoln’s try-out for the Indy 500 down all the side streets of our town; her attempt at “taking a short cut” that actually took us ten minutes longer and shaved at least four years off my life.
When we got there and approached the front desk looking for Lindy, the receptionist made it quite clear that Lindy was already making a nuisance of herself. She had apparently “fired” a nurse when she told her they couldn’t give her Percocet without a doctor’s order, and that furthermore, it was not routine to give a narcotic for a sprained ankle. Mrs. Lincoln was livid that anyone dare deny her daughter Percocet—she was probably looking to swipe a few in the process—so she demanded to speak with the nurse’s supervisor. The supervisor promptly backed up her staff nurse and that went over with Mrs. Lincoln like a fart in church.
After several temper tantrums on the part of both Lindy and Mrs. Lincoln (and also a janitor named Luis who got upset when Mrs. Lincoln kicked over his bucket of water), five hours, and at least three Valium later—for Mrs. Lincoln, not Lindy—we were on our way back to Lindy’s house with a Percocet script and an ace bandage wrapped around the princess’s elevated ankle.
“Now Lindy, you’re going to have to be careful with that ankle. I want you to prop it up on your bed and no wandering around the house all night,” Mrs. Lincoln was instructing as she turned down a side street, nearly hitting two kids setting up a lemonade stand.
“Of course,” Lindy mumbled while rolling her eyes at me. I wasn’t fooled. She was lavishing her mama’s attention. This made up for the fact that Carson had escaped from her grasp.
“Maria, we’re going to need you to stay with Lindy tonight,” she continued as she swerved into the driveway and bounded over the curb. I could see where Lindy got her keen driving skills from.
“What? Why?” Lindy asked at the same time as Maria said, “Sorry, Mrs. Lincoln, I can’t stay. It’s my mama’s birthday today.”
“But I have a fundraiser dinner tonight and James is out of town!” Mrs. Lincoln wailed. Lindy also inherited her mama’s negotiating skills. “Lindy can’t stay alone! Surely you can have cake another
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